


Steal The Warm Wind, Tired Friend

by HandsAcrossTheSea



Series: Those Hazy Days I Do Remember [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bottom Dean, Dirty Talk, Episode Related, Frottage, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Top Sam, first time in a long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-31
Updated: 2018-01-31
Packaged: 2019-03-12 01:16:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13536570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandsAcrossTheSea/pseuds/HandsAcrossTheSea
Summary: Sam wakes up for the first time in nearly two weeks without the grip of a nightmare still tugging at his subconscious, nor with the sweat of some half-remembered terror that his brain had decided to remind him of.Instead, it’s to the soft, deep-scrubbed scent of cheap motel shampoo and sleep sweat filling his nostrils, Dean’s body spooned against his own, curled against Sam’s chest and stomach in nearly the exact same position they had fallen asleep in.Coda to 1x02, "Wendigo"





	Steal The Warm Wind, Tired Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Since I am a) bad at actually watching Supernatural and b) very easily influenced by conversations with my friends and nostalgia, I decided to take up the cause for the episode that made me want to smash Sam and Dean together in the first place. I am not by any means the first person to look at "Wendigo" and think OH HEY FIC TIME but it's the first time that your boy has done it, so yeah, here we are. I loved the look of season one, so innocent, fresh, and are I say fucking TWINKY. 
> 
> More to follow this one, folks, I'm feeling it in my bones.

          “So, what do you think Sam?”

          Sam looks up from the salad he hasn’t touched yet, his brother sprawled in the booth opposite him.  He’d been talking, and Sam had been listening, really, but… the sound of Dean’s voice was all he had focused on, not the words themselves.  Dean’s looking at him expectantly, like Sam’s got the magic answer to this case.

          “Sorry, I… I zoned out there.”  Sam scrubs his hand over the lower half of his face and lets out a slow, deep breath, making his best effort to put his mind back in order.  He hasn’t slept worth a crap since the day he buried Jess, still trying to reconcile two different pasts – one of which has become the present again.

          Dean’s still looking at him, and there’s concern backing his gaze this time.  Concern, excitement, and even if Dean doesn’t think Sam sees it, desire.  Sam looks away from him, far too out of focus to try and respond to… hell, everything.  Maybe start with concern.

          “Alright, I’ll say it again.  What do you think Shaw was talking about?  Ain’t a ghost, that’s for sure.”  Dean’s easy, confident drawl makes long-dormant warmth pool at the base of Sam’s spine, even if they are just talking shop.  Talking shop is safe, easy, common ground that doesn’t breach the subject of _Sam and Dean._

“Bears don’t unlock doors, and unless Bigfoot’s suddenly moved this far south, that leaves out any sort of primate.” Sam licks his lips and rifles through knowledge he thought he wouldn’t ever need again.  “And even then, would a cryptid like that have claws?”

          Dean shrugs and licks the salt from his fries from his fingertips, his tongue the same eye-catching shade of pink as his mouth.  Sam looks way again, not letting Dean see the heat flushing his cheeks.  He can’t act on it now, not so soon after Dean literally crashed back into his life.  Can’t think about how all he smells is his brother’s old leather and gunpowder scent, or the way he can feel Dean’s achingly comforting body heat less than two feet away from him in the front seat of the Impala.

          Sam shoves it all away, focuses on the job, stops thinking about what he thought he stopped wanting four years ago.

          Still wants.

          Still _needs._

“Not unless there’s some separate myth that doesn’t have anything to do with Bigfoot.  Hell, we could just have a tribe of cannibals on our hands with a weirdly specific time table.  Wouldn’t be the first time it’s happened.” Dean slurps his drink and bumps Sam’s foot under the table with his own.  “I know you’re out of practice Sam, but I know that brain of yours hasn’t quit on us yet.”

          Sam smiles, playing with the end of his fork.  “Not _that_ out of practice.”  He looks back at Dean, heart slowing a little.  He’s gorgeous, more now than ever, and Sam was painfully aware of that when Dean pinned him to the floor in his now burned out apartment.  Part of him is still there, with Dean wrapped around him, mouths open to each other’s tongues and legs tangled so that neither one of them can get away.

          “Sounds like you might be – c’mon, Sammy, I know you’ve got some wisdom to shed. Maybe consult the local papers if we have to, but I want to hear your thoughts first.”  Dean’s leaning towards him, not wanting to miss a word.  “We’ve ruled out a ghost and Bigfoot.”

          “Think we might need to dig up some more lore.  Shaw seemed to be in the right mind, but if you don’t live the life…”  Sam can feel his brain fighting itself, his train of thought running back outside the normalcy that college had acquainted him to.  “We need to do some more digging.”

          “Or just go into the woods themselves.”  Dean frowns, thinking about what he just said.  “Man, going and poking old buildings is one thing but the fucking woods?  I don’t like it, but Dad left the coordinates so…”

          “I don’t like it either – and who knows, maybe it’ll help us find him.”  Find Dad, get him back to Dean, and then maybe Sam can start putting his life back together.  Deep down he knows that’s a lie, and only unto himself, but right now it’s what’s holding him together.  Dean destroys him, and Sam has never been able to put himself back together.

          And it’s absolutely because he doesn’t want to.

          “Maybe.”  Dean gets quiet, looking at Sam with a softness that’s far too intimate for broad daylight in the middle of a diner.  “I mean, I know we should get our asses moving on this but hey, don’t rush it, Sam.  We’re a fuckin’ team, remember?”

          Sam does remember, more than he long ago stopped trying to repress.  “Helps when you’re trying to help someone else, I guess.”

          Dean gives him that soft look again, trying to listen past what Sam’s saying and get into his head – it’s strange when _Dean_ wants to talk about it, this thing between them.  The thing they had and for a while at least, Sam just thought of as put on hold.

          Until four years went by and in the times that Sam did see his brother, neither of them were in a place to act or do anything about it, because honestly, what could be said?  Hey, Dean, sorry I went off to college and broke my own heart by doing so?

          Sam shoves his thoughts back into the dark recesses of his mind and thinks that maybe when this is done, they can bring it up, can start to build on time apart and a few more years of wisdom.

          “Kinda the point here, Sam.  We can help this girl find her brother, give Shaw some peace of mind – sounds like it’s worth it to me.”  Dean’s speaking low, like he’s wanting no one but Sam to pay him any attention.  “And you know, maybe think about putting the band back together for good, if… if you want.”

          Sam can’t actually believe that Dean’s about to stammer, and he has to pinch himself mentally to make sure he’s actually here.  Christ, he’s missed Dean too but… there’s still a chance that this doesn’t have to be his life.  That maybe Dean will just _stay_ this time, and they can figure it out from there.

          “Dean…”

          Dean stops him, pleading with his eyes for Sam to listen for just a little longer.  “Think about it Sam, seriously.  I… we need you, man.  The three of us can do a lot of good, you know?”

          That Dean started out with “I” and then rushed to correct himself confirms everything Sam’s been secretly, violently wishing was true.  He just buried the girl he had intentions of marrying last week and yet?  It already feels like a lifetime ago.  Sam misses her, still thinks about Jess constantly, and never, ever wanted this for her. 

          But when that fire burned the apartment out, Sam knew that part of him went with it.  He would never get to tell Jess the truth, and while that hurts like a motherfucker, all he sees – or chooses to see – is Dean.

          And Dean, thank God, is looking back.

          “I will, Dean, just… I will.”

          It takes every bit of Sam’s willpower to not pull Dean forward by the collar of his jacket and kiss him until he suffocated.

___

          Watching the wendigo burn brings Sam a strange, oblique satisfaction.  Like he hasn’t just committed a murder for God, the hundredth time in his life?  Rescuing Haley’s brother felt _good,_ right even. Pulling the trigger on that monster had felt good, better than anything he’s done in a long while.  What was once human isn’t human, and Sam knew that he was making the world a safer place.

          But as good as that felt, nothing compares to how Dean had looked at him, that look of approval mixed with _we fucking did it, Sammy._

          Sam’s still looking at Dean, streaked with dirt and blood but still whole, still here, entirely too beautiful to be sitting on the back of a an old car with his little brother.  Dean hasn’t move though, sticking as close to Sam as he can.

          “See what I mean, Sammy?”  Dean’s leaning back, just a little bit, body open to Sam if he wants him – and good God, Sam _does._ “A fuckin’ team, and a damned good one.”

          Sam nods, thinking of nothing more than leaning over to pull Dean’s body to his and never let go.  He has to swallow before he can speak, his throat gone dry with the rush of adrenaline still coursing through his veins.  “Yeah, we did.”  He can’t breathe, not really, wanting to ask a million different questions, see how Dean’s feeling, just… do what they do after a hunt.

          It’s easier and safer to ask “you want to get a beer?”

          “Yeah, Sammy, I would.  I’ll buy.”  Dean gets off the trunk and stands there, backlit by the lights of the little parking lot, half of him hidden in shadow, looking at Sam.  “C’mon.”

          Sam follows, sliding into the passenger seat, his eyes never really leaving Dean.

          It doesn’t take all that long to find a bar – there are a total of two in this town, and one of them is right down the street from their motel.  It’s a weeknight, it’s late, and there might be six other people inside it.  They’re looked at with the curious glance of those who aren’t part of the local make-up but are soon dismissed as transitory, gone with the night train on its next stop, and it isn’t long before they’re invisible again.

          Dean orders a few shots of whiskey (local stuff that smells like it could peel paint off of a battleship) and Sam grabs two beers, cold, good stuff that doesn’t take a lot of concentration to drink.  They tuck themselves adjacent to the bar, under a light dim with age and a table that’s been polished so many times that almost all of the varnish has worn off and no one’s ever bothered to resurface it.  Sam likes the place, soaking in the character of it as Dean passes him one of the shots and raises his glass, clinking it against Sam’s and downing it in the blink of an eye.

          Sam waits, watching Dean swallow before tilting his head back and doing the same.  It’s the first whiskey he’s had in a very, very long time, and it burns just as much now as it did when he was eighteen and Dean snuck him his first taste of it as a birthday present.

          “This shit’s… strong.”  Sam coughs, once, and then grabs his beer to chase it.  Dean has a motto about that, mixing the two: liquor before beer, don’t be a little bitch – and that’s it.  Sam’s trusted him on that for a long time now, and once you get that buzz, you don’t care what sequence it’s consumed in.

          Dean laughs, licking his lips free of the lingering taste before taking a swig of beer, still sitting next to Sam’s hand.  Their knuckles brush, setting Sam off with a racing warmth that goes down to his toes.  “I underestimated this country’s ability to brew a decent whisky west of Kentucky but man, I was fuckin’ wrong.” 

          “Is this gonna be one of those conversations where you weigh up all the different liquors you’ve had and try to convince me that one of them does the job better than the next?”  Sam watches Dean roll his eyes, trying to hide his smile.  The truth?  Sam would listen to every fucking word, just to hear his brother’s voice.

          “You’d think that as much as you care about details, you’d be just a little more interested, Sammy.”  Dean takes the third shot, holding it in his mouth for a moment before swallowing.  Sam watches his cheeks flush, his tongue dart out to make sure he’s gotten as much of it as he can.  He doesn’t move, beer halfway to his mouth, feeling his heart pull across the table towards his brother.

          “Yeah, you’d think,” Sam says, quietly.  “Probably have a notebook, don’t you?  Full of where you tried ‘em, how quickly they got you fucked up…”  Sam grins, teasing him, and Dean’s face screws up in mock anger.

          “You calling me an alcoholic, Sam?”

          “No – an alcoholic is constantly drunk.  You just like to drink.”  Sam finally gets his beer to his mouth, drains half the bottle, letting his lips curl around the mouth, caught halfway between trying to seduce his brother back to him and giving himself time to think about what to say.  It can’t be that simple, can it, Hey, Dean, I really liked it when we used to fuck and make out like we weren’t brothers, want to pick it up again and see what happens? 

          “And you can’t tell me that you didn’t go to a party while you were there and do body shots out of a cheerleader’s navel.”  Dean looks like he wants it to be true, and Sam lets the question go unanswered.  “You… did do that, right?  Because if you didn’t, I’m not talking to you ever again.”

          Sam shrugs, fingers cradling his sweating beer bottle.  “Wasn’t ever as fun as doing it with you, Dean.”  Sam looks up at him, his voice getting quieter as he goes on.  “Lots of things weren’t.”

          Dean starts to peel the label from his own bottle, looking towards the bar like he wants another shot or two.  “Think I know what you mean.”  Sam can see him laying the ground for him, letting Sam say it without actually saying it.  They’ve always sucked at talking about it, _them._ It’s always been action, enough words for consent, everything being communicated with body language, looks that no one else could possibly understand, not even their own father.

          Sam breathes in deep, rubs his mouth with his fingers and looks Dean in the eye, _needing_ him to understand.  “I never stopped, Dean.”  He takes another swallow of beer before going on, locked on his brother’s dirt-and-blood smudged face.  “I know I should have, and Jess… Dean, I loved her, I did, and part of me wanted to make it work but… I never stopped wanting you or what we had.  I know I should feel bad but Dean, goddammit, I couldn’t...”

          Dean’s looking at him like he just knocked the wind out of him, lips parted and his eyes dark.  “You think I did, Sam?”

          Sam shakes his head, his throat dry and his chest numb.  “I didn’t know what to think, Dean.  We… we didn’t see each other for so long, I… I didn’t know.”

          “I gave you that space, Sam, because I wanted that too.  Wanted that life for you, not hanging around with your fucked up older brother and this fucked up existence that something or someone decided was going to be it for us.  Figured that maybe time and distance would let you have it.”

          Sam has to bite his lip, hands laying on the table just an inch short of Dean’s.  “Didn’t work, did it?”  Sam looks away, swallowing against the most honest conversation they’ve ever had about this, hoping that it isn’t just booze and adrenaline making them talk and that in the morning, this was a dream.  “Kinda figured it out when you pinned me to the floor in Palo Alto.”

          Dean chuffs a laugh, looking at Sam’s hands.  “Honestly surprised you didn’t feel the boner I popped the second I landed on you.”

          “You too?”  Sam hadn’t had the chance to act on it, but Christ if he didn’t want to.  He had kept smelling himself, how Dean’s scent had blended with his own, how it already is _again._ “I wanted…”

          “Me too, Sammy.”

          Sam’s stomach does another slow roll, making him feel entirely too lightheaded.  He leans across the table, knees bumping Dean’s as he grabs him by his collar and pulls Dean towards him, tilting his head and closing his eyes, feeling it a split second before his lips touch.  He lets himself go, burned in the ash of Jessica’s body, another chapter of his life done.  He starts writing another as Dean’s lips slide across his, salted with the sweat of a beast’s cave and twenty year old whisky.  He drinks instead the moan Dean lets out, felt more than heard, skimming across Sam’s teeth and racing across his tongue, the best chaser he’s ever going to have.

          Dean’s the one to break it, eyes huge and mouth open, shiny with the remnants of Sam’s kiss.  Sam swipes his tongue across Dean’s bottom lip before drawing back, clutching the worn leather of his jacket and waiting for the spell to break.

          It doesn’t, and Dean’s smile is so fucking huge that Sam falls ten times harder for him than he already has.  “Think we might want to get a room.”

          “I’ve got one, uh… wanna see it?”

          Dean kisses him, and this time it’s deeper, faster, weighted with four years of a longing so intense that it nearly brings tears to Sam’s eyes.  Dean’s tongue touches his own, and Sam does indeed let a couple tears fall, the pieces of himself he’d been fighting to rearrange for so long slamming back into place.  Dean’s fingers slide into his hair, trying to pull Sam further into the kiss, stopped when he realizes he’s making the table dig into Sam’s stomach.

          Letting him go is hard, but Sam needs _more,_ needs _Dean,_ and not in this place, not in front of people who have almost certainly been staring at them for the last ten minutes.  Dean doesn’t wipe his mouth, eyes still locked with Sam’s.  “About that room, Sam?”

          Sam pulls him up out of his chair, refusing to let go of him if he can help it.  “It has… beds.”

          “Don’t think we’ll need more than one, do you?”

          Dean drops forty dollars on the table and lets Sam drag him out, and no, they haven’t finished talking about it yet, and they will.

          Right now, though?

Sam’s got shit to say that has precious little to do with words, and there’s no way that Dean’s going to misunderstand a single syllable.

___

The hardest part is getting from the motel parking lot to inside the motel itself.

Sam’s got Dean halfway in his lap, fingers slid into his hair, licking out the inside of his mouth like he’s going to vanish if he doesn’t keep the constant taste of Dean on his tongue.  Every moan, every sound that Dean makes, Sam tries to commit to memory.  He’s burning down, and Dean’s lips keep lighting him up, careful, soft, swollen and starting to bruise.  They’re starting to run out of breathable air, the smell of dried blood and burnt flesh competing with the lived-in leather and gas smell of the Impala.  God, how many times had they been in this exact situation, jammed together in the front seat at some obscene hour past sundown?

Sam wants as many more times like this as the universe is willing to give him, and damn who ever may try to take it from them.  He’s chosen to give Dean up once, he’s not going to do it again.  He opens his jaw wider, Dean’s tongue sliding against his, just as hungry for Sam as Sam is for Dean, his hands in Sam’s hair, trying to flatten out his curls by continually running his fingers through them.  Sam’s hard, has been since they got in the car.  He can feel the wet, sticky drip of anticipation, the damp patch blossoming around the head of his cock the longer Dean keeps him here, too hot and too close together.

It’s Dean who finally breaks the kiss, lips red and kiss-bitten.  “Think we need to get inside soon.”

“Do we have to?”  Sam kisses him again, sucking on Dean’s bottom lip and praying to God he never has to let go.  “Kinda think we’re doing okay here.”

          Dean starts nipping at Sam’s jaw, moving along to his as-of-yet unexplored left earlobe, taking it between his teeth and making Sam groan, long and low.  “Yeah but if we go in _there,_ that means you get me naked and under you.”  He bites flesh that shouldn’t have any fucking business being that sensitive, and Sam wonders if it’s worth getting a neck cramp just to have Dean stay in that spot for another hour or five.

          But Dean naked?

          No, Sam can’t find a single reason to argue with that.  It’s been a long, long time since Sam’s had that, too long.  Dean reaches between his legs and squeezes, wiggling his eyebrows at him and grinning so fucking dirty at him that it makes Sam’s stomach flip.

          “And that, Sammy?  That’s reason number one.”  Dean climbs out of his lap and gets out, reaching into his jeans and pointing himself downward so that he can walk to their door.  Sam doesn’t bother, his jeans too tight anyway.  He’s still too drunk on Dean to be able to walk straight anyway, focusing on the shape of Dean’s back and licking his lips so that he can have that much more of his brother to savor.

          Dean turns and pulls Sam in by his shirt, colliding their mouths and backing Sam up against the closed door all in one smooth motion.  Sam lets his hands roam over Dean’s body, finally settling on his hips, slid up under his t-shirt so that he’s got the most skin on skin contact he’s had with him in four years.

          It makes Sam pause, turning his head away to put his mouth to Dean’s ear, whispering, making Dean listen.  “I want to do it right this time, Dean.  All of it.  I don’t know what that means, exactly, not right now but-”

          Dean cuts him off with a kiss, tugging at Sam’s belt loops as he walks them backwards until they’re at the foot of the bed that Sam’s claimed.  “Think I know what you mean, Sam, and yeah, I do too.”  His hands don’t move from Sam’s waist, unbuckling his belt and then reaching up to push his jacket off his shoulders.  “But right now let’s worry about this.” 

          Watching Dean strip for him is like Michelangelo painting the Ceiling right in front of him, each shade and nuance of his brother’s body revealed to him with such reverence that Sam feels like he needs to get to his knees and give thanks.  Dean’s a little broader now, more scarred than before.  Some of them Sam remembers exactly how he got them, old and faded.  Others are still far too new and pink, and Dean will tell him about them later.

          Sam runs his fingers along Dean’s naked torso, tracing over his abs and hips, deciding that he needs a week just to touch the curves and secret places of his body so that he doesn’t forget them again.  “Not so different from before,” he murmurs, letting Sam get his fill.

          “Yeah, it is.”  Sam rubs his thumbs over Dean’s nipples, just as sensitive now as they were when Sam was eighteen, if the moan Dean lets out is anything to go by.  “We…”

          “Missed a lot.”  Dean tugs at Sam’s shirt, pulling upwards to take it off.  Dean stares at him, his eyes full of lust and sadness, mimicking the exact same gestures on Sam.  “Sam, you grew the fuck up, didn’t you?”

          “You like it, Dean?”  Sam makes his abs flex, lean and cut up like the rest of him.  He’s yet to bulk out much, but Sam’s not had a trace of puppy fat for a long time now, and it’s not much but he’s proud of what he’s forged his body into.

          “Yeah, Sam, I do.”  Dean puts his hands on Sam’s hips and pulls their bodies together, sweat-slicked and entirely too hot.  “Fuckin’ want you on top of me, Sammy.”

          “I’m starting to not hate that name.”  Sam kisses him, finally getting himself out of his jeans, left only in his boxer briefs with his cock tenting them out so far that there’s no point in keeping them on; Dean’s going to see him soon enough.

          “Good – now take ‘em off, or I’ll do it for you.”

          “Why’d you think I left them on.”  Sam nuzzles his neck, breathing Dean’s scent and warmth.  He hears the quiet, sharp gasp in his brother’s throat, seeing Sam fully naked after so fucking long.

          “Knew you’d get big, Sammy, real fuckin’ big.”  Dean’s fingers are hot around his shaft, stroking down from his precome-soaked head, foreskin pulling all the way back as he explores, Sam’s eyes closed so that he can _feel, listen,_ let Dean take what he wants of him before they finally give.

          “Think of how it’s gonna feel inside you, Dean.  Can’t fuckin’ wait to fill you up, leave you stretched and leaking…” Sam bites at Dean’s neck, the need to get Dean writing under him suddenly a hundred times more urgent.

          Dean’s laugh is as dark as the night outside, cupping Sam’s balls and rolling them between his fingers, the denim of his jeans rough against Sam’s skin, starting a million new fires that burn him right down to the bone.  “There’s the toppy, filthy-mouthed Sam I was looking for.”

          “Never said that had changed, Dean.”  Sam works fast at Dean’s belt and shoves his pants and underwear down, grasping Dean’s own thick cock in hand, so unlike Sam in that he’s cut smooth and yet it looks so fucking good on him, glans flared and wet with precome.  “Wanna feel you against me Dean.”

          Dean comes back to him, lips wet as he kisses Sam hard enough to make his head swim.  “Not a damn thing stopping you, baby boy.”

          Sam pushes Dean down on the bed so fast that _he_ loses his breath, and Dean’s grinning hard enough that Sam swears his teeth glint in the moonlight.

          “Missed you so goddamn much, Dean.”  Sam plunges his tongue into Dean’s mouth, getting greedy, their bodies flush with each other, cocks trapped between them.  He pins Dean’s arms above his head, fingers linked, laying a smattering of kisses down from Dean’s jaw all the way out to his shoulder, biting and marking him up.  He wants to see the evidence of what they’ve done for days after, wants the waitresses and bartenders that Dean will inevitably flirt with to see that someone’s been there already, that his fucking heart belongs to someone else.

          Ugly, naked jealousy coils up in Sam’s stomach and makes him growl, biting at Dean’s chest and leaving a purple mark there.  Dean hisses and bumps his nose against Sam’s jaw, murmuring “afraid someone won’t know I’m yours?”  Dean bares his neck anyway, and Sam starts worrying a hickie into his windpipe.

          “No – but if anyone looks, they’ll realize they can’t keep you.”  Sam nips at his collarbone and finally goes back to his mouth, sucking on Dean’s bottom lip, rutting his hips against Dean’s, cocks slicked with precome that seems to have and endless supply, blood-warm as it leaks from Sam’s slit.  He lets one of Dean’s hands go so that he can wrap his fingers around them, lined up so that Sam can feel their difference in size.

          God, he’s _a lot_ bigger than Dean now, and Dean isn’t fucking small, either.

          Dean makes him look, holding his gaze as he strokes them together.  “Don’t want to belong to anyone else, Sam.  God knows I tried to make myself.  I smoked, I drank, would take the Impala and just go, try to put as much distance between myself and you as possible, just so that I couldn’t crash back into your life and fuck it all up again.”  He kisses Sam, slowing his pace on their cocks to match the motion of his lips.  “But I never could do it, Sam.  No one’s ever come close.”

          Sam’s not saying a word, his chest hollowed and his body awash with the constant, electric spark of Dean’s gun calluses against the head of his cock.  “You never fucked it up, Dean.”

          Dean smiles, tinged with sadness, his body feeling so completely incredible against Sam’s that he doesn’t know how he’s survived without it all this time.  “Call those some of John’s words, once he got done being mad at you.  But yeah, Sammy, we’re gonna get it fucking right this time.”

          Sam kisses him again, fervor renewed and burning far hotter than before.  He fucks himself against Dean’s cock, sliding in and out of the loose, deliciously rough hold of his fingers, smearing precome all over Dean’s skin.  Dean wraps his legs around Sam’s waist, feet dug into the small of his back, sucking on Sam’s tongue and moaning so loudly that anyone else to either side of them will absolutely hear.  Sam’s world condenses, right on down to this shabby motel in one of the remotest parts of Colorado either of them have ever been in.

          “That’s it, Sammy, doing so fuckin’ good.”  Dean’s wet too, legs so tightly held around Sam that he’s making more than enough friction for them, pushing them closer and closer.  Dean’s always tried to time himself with Sam, wanting to fall over the precipice with him.

          Ninety percent of the time it’s an unconscious effort, and Sam long ago stopped trying to figure out how or why. He can feel the pull growing stronger and stronger, right behind his balls, drawing up so that they’re nestled against the sides of his cock.  Sam’s shaking, pushed by his brother’s hand to destruction so fucking fast that he’s not aware of any other damn thing, not now.

          “Close, Sammy,”  Dean’s practically chewed through Sam’s bottom lip, sucked between his teeth, his strokes losing some of their coherence, more focused on speed now, the soft, wet sounds of their flesh against each other the accompaniment to his brother’s moans.  “So fuckin’ close for you.”

          _For you._

Sam comes, blowing all over Dean’s stomach and chest, shouting into his neck as he unloads spurt after spurt onto Dean, his stomach getting spattered when Dean blows half a second behind him.  Four years of frustration, longing, guilt, and sadness start to fade, Dean milking every last fucking drop from his body until Sam collapses on top of him, breathing hard and inhaling the dirt-streaked scent of Dean’s body.

          “We… we still have a lot more to cover.”  Sam’s sorry for landing so heavy on top of him but fuck _all_ if it’s not the best orgasm he’s had in a long fucking time.

          Dean laughs, his face smushed under Sam’s shoulder.  “Right now we’re gonna go take a shower so that we _can_ cover more.  You really think that’s the only time we’re doing this tonight, Sammy?”

          Sam’s cock twitches, completely ignoring his own fucking refractory period.  “God no.”

          “Then get your beefy ass off of me so that I can wash your… beefy ass.”  Dean shoves him off and props himself up on one shoulder, running his fingers through the mess of come on his stomach and looking over Sam, licking his lips in appreciation.  “God _damn_ you grew the fuck up.”

          “You gonna put me in a centerfold?”  Sam leans back, one arm behind his head to show off his (admittedly ripe smelling) pit and strokes his cock, _wanting_ Dean to look at him.  God, it was intoxicating then but now?  Yeah, Sam can’t begin to feel guilt for drawing his brother’s eye.

          “Keep posing like that and I may – now c’mon, I wanna see if I can still deep throat that monster.”

          Dean nearly drowns doing it, but yes, he absolutely can.

___

          Sam wakes up for the first time in nearly two weeks without the grip of a nightmare still tugging at his subconscious, nor with the sweat of some half-remembered terror that his brain had decided to remind him of.

          Instead, it’s to the soft, deep-scrubbed scent of cheap motel shampoo and sleep sweat filling his nostrils, Dean’s body spooned against his own, curled against Sam’s chest and stomach in nearly the exact same position they had fallen asleep in.  It had taken a lot out of him to blow his brother after their shower last night, after Dean had nearly brought him to his knees in the tub.  Dean’s mouth has only gotten better with age, and Sam shoves aside the thought of his brother _practicing_ on other people to perfect that technique.

          Or maybe he’s just a fucking natural, and Sam had been too fucked out and horny to realize it last night.  Hell, he’s still fucked out and horny, waking up to Dean’s ass pressed against his morning wood.  After two orgasms less than twelve hours ago Sam seriously thought that maybe for the moment his lust would be slaked, long enough to give them a little time to get used to being around each other full time again, start putting their relationship outside of sex back in order.

          Sam accepts that he’s wrong and moves a little closer to Dean, scenting his neck and rubbing Dean’s chest and stomach with his fingertips. 

          Dean’s still deeply asleep – he always is after a night of passion – and Sam’s left to touch him freely, tracing over his hipbones, kiss the angry looking scar on the back of his left shoulder, watching the goosebumps rise in the wake of his touch.  He circles Dean’s nipples, feeling them pebble and harden.  There’s a slow, sweet kiss pressed to the back of Dean’s ear, where his scent is strongest.

          Sam wants Dean so fucking badly it’s making his stomach hurt.

          The fire of want that had been at a low ebb when he fell asleep is now a full blaze, making his cock hard and his hands drift low, skittering across the space between Dean’s navel and dark blonde pubic hair, teasing those places that when Dean is awake make him moan and beg for Sam.  That’s his end goal, of course, but he’s not in any sort of rush to get there.

          Dean’s hard in his sleep, and Sam’s cock starts to leak as he wraps his fingers around Dean’s shaft, stroking him to the head and slowly back down again, the skin of his cock hot and dry.  He cups Dean’s balls, heavy and loose like his own, remembering the feel and taste of them in his mouth last night.  He tugs at them, just on the other side of gentle, making Dean moan softly.

          “’S just me, Dean.”  Sam kisses the back of his head and resumes his exploration, reveling in their closeness and committing the feel of Dean’s skin back to memory.  He’s more tanned now, even though Dean hates it when he burns.  There are healing abrasions on his side, not just from the wendigo, bruises in the middle of his back that look like he got hurled against a headstone.  Sam touches each one, knowing that soon he’s going to have these marks too.  He’ll bear them with his brother, with a mixture of pride and weariness because that’s just how it fucking goes – and he will wear them willingly, because Dean’s going to be there with him.

          Sam never did fall out of love with him, did he?

          He slides his hand left hand between them, down to Dean’s ass. This is one part he didn’t get to last night, not really. He finds Dean’s hole, ghosting over it with his fingertips.  Dean squirms, and Sam can’t tell if it’s away or towards him.  He stills a moment later and Sam keeps going, feeling how much warmer it is here than the rest of his body.

          Sam wants to fuck him, right through the mattress, but he’s going to need supplies before he does so.

          It’s agony to leave Dean’s warm body to get up and go to his bag, fishing for lube he forgot he owned and a condom from the last box he bought when he was with Jess.  He tries to be quiet, rummaging through jeans and boxers, his cock dripping precome all over the carpet between his feet.

          “Someone’s up early.”

          Sam startles, turning around to his brother, sleepy-eyed and smiling at him.  “It’s past 11.”

          “Wasn’t talking about you.”  Dean turns over onto his back and shoves the blankets down, his cock pointed towards his face as he takes himself in hand.  “Thought I was dreaming until I realized you had gotten up.”

          “I um… had an idea.”  Sam finally finds what he’s looking for and goes back to the bed, retaking his place next to Dean and kissing him good morning.  Dean opens his mouth immediately to him, tongue sliding against Sam’s, tasting stale from sleep but Sam doesn’t care, moaning as Dean puts his hand on the back of head and pulls Sam in deeper.

          That this isn’t going to be the only morning they have like this makes Sam’s heart swell, and it’s not long before he’s on top of Dean again, covering him with his body.  The frantic desperation of the night before is gone, replaced by a complete unwillingness to rush and simply enjoy each other.

          Dean breaks the kiss, caressing Sam’s hips and looking into his eyes.  “What’s that idea you had?”

          “I want to fuck you so deep you feel it for a month.”  Sam falls in love with the way Dean’s body automatically opens up to him, trusting Sam to not take it for granted.

          “And you’re waiting to do that because…”

          “Wanted you to be awake for it.  Kinda sucks when I can’t hear you beg for me.”  Sam seals his intentions with a kiss and turns climbs off of Dean, turning him back over onto his side.  Dean settles back against him, back to chest, head turned to that Sam can keep tongue fucking his mouth as he draws his leg up.

          Sam teases the head of his cock over Dean’s hole, groaning with Dean as a million different, long distant sensations are felt again.  He isn’t going to fuck him dry, but pulling those sounds from Dean’s mouth are music to his fucking ears.

          “Don’t fucking tease, Sammy.”  Dean holds himself open for Sam, not even gasping as Sam squirts lube into his fingers and coats Dean’s hole with it, adding more just so he can watch the slick run over his skin.

          “Not gonna Dean, just have to get you ready.”  Sam rubs him for another minute, trying his hardest to relax him a little more.  It’s been a while since they’ve done this, and Sam wasn’t quite as big then.  He had to be careful with Jess, but Dean, it’s different.  Sam knows that he can fuck Dean until he’s nearly split him open, and then leave him begging for more.

          Yeah, he needs to be inside his brother’s body _soon._

Dean gets impatient and rocks back against Sam’s fingers, looking up at him, “Sam, I’m not gonna fucking break.  Fuck me right and I’ll show you the dildo I’ve been subbing out for you.”

          “You… you have a dildo.”  It isn’t that big of a surprise, but Dean moaning and fucking himself on a fake cock is something that Sam _very_ much wants to experience.

          “Actually more like four but if you hurry the fuck up I don’t think I’ll need ‘em today.”  Dean kisses him, hard, and Sam slides a finger inside him right as Dean’s teeth bear down on him a little too hard and a drop of blood leaks out onto his tongue.  He fucks Dean on that one finger until he’s got two in him, working him open, stretching and curling his fingertips against Dean’s prostate.  Dean tears his mouth away from Sam’s, moaning and pulling his leg up until Sam _knows_ he’s got to be uncomfortable.

          “God you’re fucking tight, Dean.”  Sam bites Dean’s earlobe and slips in a third finger, watching Dean’s eyes roll back in his head.  He knows Dean could take him now, probably not comfortably, but they’re closer, anyway.  Dean uses his free hand to grab his cock, stroking slowly, precome pearling and dripping onto the thin sheets.

          “This is about the part where I get impatient and shove it in, Sammy.”  Dean’s eyes open back up, and Sam nods, taking his fingers out and kissing Dean as he reaches for the condom, debating exactly how he’s going to do this with one hand covered in lube.

          Dean stops him, tossing the rubber away.  “You don’t need that.”

          “Dean, I haven’t been tested in-”

          “I’m clean, Sam.  Went the week before I came and got you.  You been with anyone else aside from your girl?”  Dean has his hand between them, stroking Sam’s cock and guiding him to his hole.

          “No, not… not since I left and-”

          Dean hushes him with a kiss and _makes_ his body take Sam, lube coating the insides of his thighs.  Sam adds more once he’s halfway in, his brain finally catching up with his body, pushing into Dean until he’s balls deep and they’re both panting.

          “Feels like I’m sitting on a fucking telephone pole – you make a deal for, God, Sam, six extra inches or something?”  Dean grits his teeth, blinks away tears and takes a couple of deep breaths.  Sam sooths him as best he can, holding himself still to give Dean’s body a chance to get used to the stretch.

          “You want me to pull-”

          “I swear if you pull out Sam I’m gonna break your fucking jaw.” Dean clenches around him, and they both moan.  Sam’s entirely too aware of how tight Dean is around him, how _close_ they are.  He’ll fuck Dean on his back later, then flip him over and breed him face down – right now though, this is what they need, the last position Sam fucked him in before he got on the bus to Palo Alto.

          It’s only poetic that this is how they resume, that this is how they start again.

          Sam loves Dean, more than he can put into any sort of words.

          “Kinda hard to follow through with a threat like that over my head.”  Sam rocks his hips, just a little bit, testing the waters before he gives Dean what they both want.  Dean looks like he’s just ascended, so Sam does it again, pulling halfway out before easing back in.

          “So goddamn _thick._ ”  Dean turns back for a kiss, searingly hot, goading Sam to let himself go.  Sam isn’t as careful this time, working himself up to a slow, steady rhythm that makes Dean feel every fucking inch.  He can feel Dean’s body open up more to him, lube slicked and too hot, Dean moaning as much from being fucked open as Sam hitting his prostate with every thrust.

          Sam bites at Dean’s mouth, re-focusing his attention, making Dean listen to him.  “Feels so fucking good to fuck you open Dean, shit.  Gonna come in you, watch you squirm all day as it leaks out.”  He swipes his tongue over Dean’s mouth, drawing back instantly.  “Knew you fucking missed this, didn’t you?  Getting split open on my big cock, begging til I make you come, didn’t you?”

          Dean’s nearly cross eyed with lust, licking his lips for a taste of Sam that’s never going to go away.  “Every fucking day, Sammy, every _goddamn day._ ” 

          “Me too, Dean.”  Sam’s torn between pouring more filth in Dean’s ear and holding him close, face buried in his neck to taste Dean’s heartbeat.  He’s getting close, overcharged and oversensitive, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat.  Dean’s stroking himself in time with Sam’s hips, held up by nothing more than Sam’s arm around his chest and his body behind him.

          “Dean, goddammit, I’m gonna come so fucking hard in you.”  Sam’s getting faster and faster, chasing the orgasm he’s nearly had twice in the last minute.  He wants to draw this out, edge Dean and himself but it’s getting to be too much, his patience and self-control slipping.  Dean’s shaking, his body taught and pushed to its limit.  Sam wants to release him, wants to make him come so hard that they can’t move until the motel kicks them out.

          “Do it, Sammy, just let go.”  Dean’s pleading with him, calling Sam back, back to him, his life, _them._

Sam’s orgasm rips through him at light speed, cock buried so far in Dean’s ass that he’s going to feel it for a month, teeth sunk into Dean’s shoulder next to whatever made the scar on him in the first place.  He feels Dean pulse around him, spattering the sheets with his heavy load, leaving an utter mess for whomever’s coming to put the room right again. 

          He thought he had returned home last night – he had been wrong, his heart finally beating with Dean’s again, giving himself back so completely that it makes him sob and thank whatever God might be out there that he’s home again, back in the only home he’s ever thought of as permanent.

          Once he’s fucked the last of the aftershocks out of himself, he finally lets Dean go and falls onto his back, breathing hard and closing his eyes, Dean kissing him so softly that it makes his heart break.

          “Sammy, God, that was…” Dean can’t find the words but Sam knows what he’s trying to say, pulling Dean to him and grabbing his ass, fingers rubbing over his wet, leaking hole.  Dean shies away from him, and Sam stops, reminding himself that this was a lot for them, and so soon after falling back into each other’s arms.  He’ll get his fill of sloppy seconds later, when emotions aren’t so fucking high and they can fuck without it hanging over their heads.

          “I know, Dean.”  He kisses Dean back, completely incapable of stopping.  He sits up and holds Dean in his lap, arms and legs wrapped around each other, his cock still hard so that he slips back into Dean purely by accident, not quite ready to break them apart just yet.  Dean doesn’t protest, and Sam lets himself simply _exist_ in Dean’s hot, sweating presence for a while.

          A few minutes of silence pass by, filled by them trying to catch their breath and come back down, stroking each other’s backs and shoulders, Sam keeping his eyes open as he drops kisses along his brother’s collarbone on the way to his throat.  He can almost taste the blood coloring Dean’s skin pink, lingering a little on the pulse points where Dean likes to be marked up the most.

          “Always were pretty good at that, weren’t we?”  Dean sounds sleepy again, but satisfied.  “Thought that you weren’t gonna get kinky with me so soon after waking up.”

          Sam hums agreement, arms wrapped around Dean’s back.  “That was just good morning – kinky’s if you had been wearing panties.”  They had done that a couple times, and Sam regrets enormously not having gotten photos.

          “I still have those, by the way.  Might have even picked up a couple new colors along the way too.”  Dean’s expression is deadly serious, and that’s enough to tell Sam that he actively _wants_ to wear them for him.

          Sam groans again, pulling his head away from Dean’s shoulder to look up at him.  “I _just_ came, Dean, I don’t think I can go again yet.”

          “You think I can?  You just pumped me dry, Sammy, we might have to wait til after breakfast for round two.”

          “Think the motel will let us stay after all the noise we just made?”

          Dean shrugs, pulling Sam backwards with him down to the mattress. 

          “If they saw how good you looked naked, baby boy, I’m _sure_ they would say yes.”

          Sam sincerely hopes that it doesn’t come to that, really.  Dean’s going to be the only one who gets to see him like that for a long time to come.

          But if it meant a couple more hours of Dean next to him in a too-small bed, naked and pliant?

          Sam would do it, in a heartbeat.

         

 

         

 

         

         

         


End file.
